


Replacement Memories

by Caffinated_Story



Series: A Long Way to Recovery [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Memory Issues, No romance here guys, Other, just Mercy being a mom, team bonding? family bonding? same thing right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 12:33:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11600748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffinated_Story/pseuds/Caffinated_Story
Summary: There's not much left of the Old Australia, and Junkrat barely remembers anything.The little he does remember is slowly slipping away, and it's not something he want's to admit to anyone.





	Replacement Memories

There was something that unsettled Junkrat about Mercy.  
Not that he deemed her dangerous – he was pretty confident he'd easily beat her in a fight if he wanted too.  
Oh no. There was something that nagged at the back of his mind every time she spoke to him.

Her mannerisms were somewhat familiar yet very alien.

“She's just doing her job,” Roadhog had grunted when Junkrat had gone on a tangent about how weird the good doctor was.

“She don't hafta' be so nice and smiling,” Junkrat had replied. “Could just order us all about. Like Old Grumpy does,” he had scratched at his head and tried to find better words for his odd feelings. “Junkertown mechanics fixes you up with no smiles,” he added as an afterthought.

“She ain't from the Outback,” was Roadhog's almost annoyed reply.

“Well, duh,” Junkrat slapped Roadhog's arm and laughed. “Maybe that's why....” he mumbled to himself and went quiet for an unusual length of time.

Roadhog didn't seem to mind the silence at first, but when Junkrat remained silent and unmoving from his spot on the floor for a good 20 minutes – he started worrying.

“Rat,” he said gruffly.

“Hu, yeah?” Junkrat tore himself out of his thoughts and looked up at him with eyebrows raised in slight surprise and confusion.

“Don't ya have an appointment again today?”

“What?” Junkrat blinked, and then some pieces seemed to fall into place. “Oh fuck,” he uttered and scrambled up from the floor as fast as his gangly limbs would allow him.  
He continued to curse as he remembers he was supposed to be clean before seeing Mercy.

Roadhog just sighed deeply and pointed him in the direction of the showers.

By the time Junkrat nervously stumbled into the medical bay he was already one hour late, his eye twitched slightly as he spotted Mercy staring intently at some files on her tablet.

“G'day Doc,” he greeted her as cheerfully as possible as he wrung his hands together nervously. 

“Good afternoon,” Angela replied, briefly taking her eyes off the screen to look at him and offer a smile. “I'll be with you shortly. Take a seat, but please don't touch anything,” she added.

Junkrat frowned, not very keen on sitting still any more today. He felt too anxious and restless to do so.  
And while he couldn't touch anything, she hadn't told him he couldn't look.

With a devious grin, Junkrat set about trying to figure out the various machines lining the walls on the Med bay – making little notes to himself to steal one if the opportunity presented itself.

“Enjoying yourself?” Angela asked and Junkrat flinched.

“Wasn't touching,” he said and held his hands up. “And I'm clean, see?”

“I do see,” Angela replied and chuckled lightly. “I appreciate it,” she added with a smile.

That smile.  
It unsettled him.  
It was so much more genuine than any smile in the Outback, but it was a little too warm to be natural.  
Yeah, that had to be it.  
Junkrat's mind raced back and forth as he tried to reason to himself why he found her so strange.

It couldn’t just be kindness – there are others at the base who treat him rather nicely these days.  
It couldn’t' just be because she's a doctor either, because usually he just feared them – and he's not outright afraid of Mercy, just... wary.

Wary, yes. He nods to himself. He's wary.  
But why? - a little voice at the back of his head whispers, and Junkrat is back at square one.

“Seeing as you actually did not do too badly at suturing yourself, I thought we'd practice a little on that this time,” Angela says and places a square piece of thick foam in front of him. “Very rudimentary, I'd prefer if you did this with sterile tools of course, but for now I'll show you different stitching techniques and when to apply them,”

“Right'o,” Junkrat nods and stares intently at the weird piece of foam. If he squints he can sort of imagine it's skin, and – ah. Suppose that's the point; he tells himself as he watches Mercy loop the needle and thread through the foam with a grace and precision anyone would kill for.

A laugh escapes him as she explains the 'mattress' suture, unable to stop himself from giggling at the name.  
Mercy simply laughs softly along with him before moving onto another one.

Junkrat struggles to keep his hand as steady as her, the little needle and the forceps she insists he uses hard to get his mind to focus on.

“Think of it like wiring a bomb,” she offers helpfully and Junkrat freezes.

“Yeah,” he said as he releases a long drawn out breath. That's what it it. Wiring a bomb.  
He grins as his hand is as steady as when he toys about with explosives.

“Very good,” Mercy claps and Junkrat feels a small sense of pride, his uncertain unease gone for a brief moment before it hits him full force.  
Something about her tone of voice.  
A little too familiar.  
Too close.

He bites his lip and tries to focus on the needle again, but this time he's lost his concentration.

“Bored,” he lies and sighs, tossing it all onto the table with a huff.

“Fair enough,” Angela replies, seemingly not bothered by his lack of care for her tools at the moment. “You did very well today,” she adds as she begins to tidy it up. “I'm very impressed,” she adds as she discards the used needle into a yellow box – Junkrat momentarily entrains the idea of stealing the box and blowing it up but he becomes distracted by a file on her tablet.

It's his file.

He freezes and stares at the name written on it.  
No 'Junkrat' or 'Rat'.  
Oh no.  
His name. His real name is written clear as day at the very top.

Jamieson Fawkes.

He tries to stop the twitching.

Mercy knows his real name.  
Knows it and has it written down.

That's very bad. Very bad indeed.  
She's not supposed to have his name.

“Junkrat?” Angela asks and he's suddenly aware of how close she is. “Are you okay?”

“My file,” he blurts out. “Burn it,” he hisses.

“What?” Angela takes a small step back and glances over to her tablet. “Burn it?”

“My name,” he hisses.

“Your name?” Angela looks at him with slight concern and the strange feeling appears to double up inside his mind. “What about it?”

“Burn it,” he repeats with a hiss.

“That would be a little difficult,” Angela's concerned expression doesn’t falter. “And I am aware you do not like being refereed to by anything other than your moniker,” she explains softly. “So you can rest assured I will not use your other name or let anyone else know...”

Junkrat chews slowly at the inside of his cheek and weighs her words.

“Ya got Hog's name too then?” he asks as he taps his metal fingers against the table.

“I do,” Angela nods politely. “Although Roadhog has given me permission to use his real name,” she smiles and Junkrat feels his entire body twitch.

“I see...” he mutters as he stands up. He now has even more things to think about, and Mercy must sense so – because she lets him leave without any protests or promises to come back again.

The thoughts spin around in his head all day, and even when he lays down to try and sleep it nags at him. The questions fill his mind. Claw at his broken memories and dig up things he wishes he could forget but never will.

Hog gave her permission to call him by his name. His real name.  
The name he had told Junkrat was dead to him.

Junkrat twitches anxiously and tucks the covers around him tightly before realising that simply makes him feel more trapped.  
With a grunt he tosses it on the floor and stares at the ceiling.

There's something he should remember, but it's long since buried by other thoughts – but he knows he's forgotten something.

Something important.

His sleep is restless.  
Visions foggy and the usual ringing in his ears louder than it has been in years.  
There's lights, screams and a horrible warmth that burns his skin.

“Run!” a deep but distant voice yells.

“Run Jamie!” another lighter voice screams, but Jamieson is frozen to the spot as the heat and sound engulfs him – two vague figures disappearing inside a bright light.

He wakes with a yell, clutching his bare chest as he heaves for air.

A nightmare.  
No.  
A memory.

A fading one.

Junkrat tries to hold onto it, tries to make the image of the figures linger, but it doesn't. All he can conjure up is someone much more real and alive.

His breathing is haggard as he rolls out of bed and straps his prosthetics back on.

The stupid AI informs him a little too cheerfully for his liking that it's only 04:00 and that he should try to sleep, but Junkrat just hisses at it as he makes his way towards the Med bay.

Mercy's room is right beside it. Lights off of course, but it doesn't matter right now he thinks as he bangs his metal limb against the door. He has to get the awful thoughts out. Has to make them leave him alone somehow.

But all his words falter when the door opens and Mercy blinks sleepily at the bright hallway lights.

“Junkrat?” She rubs her eyes and gives him a worried look. “Is something wrong?”

“My name,” he hisses. “Say it.”

“What?” Angela straightens up and looks up at him with worry despite still clearly being dead tired.  
There is that look again. That awful look that is making him so deeply uncomfortable. 

“My name,” he repeats. “Say it.”

“Junkrat?” Mercy tilts her head slightly, as if looking for a reason for his odd behaviour.

“No. Other one,” he whispers.

“Jamieson?” Mercy whispers gently and the name feels like a thousand bullets ricocheting in his head.

Junkrat's breath hitches in his throat as it all comes crashing down around him.  
“No,” he whispers as he sinks to the floor – pulling at his hair as he stares at the floor in terror. “Gone,” he mumbles as he tears out a handful of hair. “Just. Gone.”

“Jami-” Angela cuts herself off. “Junkrat,” she whispers softly and crouches down by him. “What's wrong?”

“I can't remember...” Junkrat whispers, refusing to look at her.

“What can't you remember?” she asks as she places a hand over his, gently prying it away from his own head before he can create more bald spots.

“My Mum,” he whispers. “I can't remember her,” he shudders and buries his face in his hands and Angela realises he's crying.

She doesn't say anything else, just sits on the floor with him till he has no more tears to cry.

“Pathetic,” he mumbles to himself as he tries to wipe the tears away.

“It's okay,” Mercy tells him and despite her soothing voice Junkrat wants to cry all over again.

“Ya replaced her,” he whispers. 

“I...I replaced her?” Angela's voice falters for a moment and Junkrat slowly looks up from the floor and right at her, trying his best to bring forth a scowl, but his own mind and body no longer listens.

“I used ta remember her. Her voice. Her face,” he swallows the lump in his throat. “But now I can't. I just... get you,” he gestures to Mercy before rubbing at his already red eyes. 

“I'm very sorry Junkrat,” Angela runs her fingers over his metal hand and he can't help but stare at it. He can feel it – or he can at least pretend he does.

“Not yer fault,” he sniffles, trying to regain his composure. Weakness is bad. Very bad.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Angela asks. “I'll make some tea?”

Junkrat makes a grumbled noise in reply but he takes her hand as she helps pull him up from the floor.  
Somewhat reluctantly he follows her into the Med Bay, but he accepts the tea and the tissues with no complaint.

Mercy doesn't say much, just wraps him in a blanket and takes a seat with her own mug.

Junkrat wants to glare.  
Want to tell her she's ruined what little memory he had left.

Yet, he knows it's not Mercy's fault.  
Not her fault she has blond hair or that she frets over everyone.  
Not Mercy's fault she's motherly.

Junkrat stares at the liquid in his cup before taking a sip.  
It's warm, sweet and comforting.  
Like it should be.

Mercy doesn't press him for anything more, and he's somewhat thankful for it.

He struggles to remember days and weeks. Sometimes whole months or years blur together.  
Time isn't very tangent in his mind any more.  
But he knows Mercy is younger than what his mother would be if she was still alive.  
Yet, that's partly the reason.  
He's done the maths, several times in-fact, after coming here. Tries to make sense of his life and to sort his thoughts out – he's never had that luxury before to do so.

Mercy must be around the age his mother was when she died.  
Close to at least – not that he plans to ask. That will make things worse. 

“Do you want a refill?” Mercy asks him and Junkrat blinks as he realises he's drank the whole thing without really noticing.

“Yeah, sure, thanks,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes as she disappears for a short while.

“There you go,” she says with a soft smile as she hands him another mug of tea, the aroma penetrating and momentarily overpowering the smell of smoke that usually fill his senses.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, falling silent again until he spots her tablet on the table.  
“You gonna write down more?” he inquires, biting his bottom lip as he stares at the tablet.

“I did not have any plans for that,” Angela shakes her head.

“Not gonna write down something about my fucking mental instability?”

“Because of this?” Angela makes a light gesture to Junkrat; still wrapped in a blanket and curled up in a chair with a warm mug of tea in his hands. “Hardly. You're not the first and you won't be the last,”

“Oh,” he utters, anger subsiding somewhat. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“You don't have to apologise,” Angela stifles a yawn. “I'm here to help and I am happy to help,”

“So yer not gonna, write I'm weak or some shit?” he eyes the tablet suspiciously.

“Having emotions hardly make one weak,” Angela explains calmly. “And no one who survives the outback is weak, did you not say so yourself?”

“Uh, yeah. Guess I did,” Junkrat scratches his head and stares awkwardly into his mug.  
“Should get back to bed,” he mumbles under his breath, but Mercy somehow still hears him.

“Of course,” she hums, and her voice is annoyingly familiar and comforting - Junkrat both hates and loves it all at once. Stupid memory. Stupid Outback wastelands. Stupid world.  
“Sleep tight Junkrat,” she says as he hands her the blanket back.

He bristles a little at the name; unsure if he wants her to continue with his moniker or his real name, but musters a 'good night' in return regardless of his conflicting thoughts.

He's still mad, but mostly just at himself.

“Fuck,” he grumbles bitterly into his pillow.  
He can't hate Mercy. 

D.VA's comment of “Angel Mom,” makes him snigger to himself before a new string of curses is delivered into his pillow.

He tries to calm himself.  
Tries to breathe in. Count to three. Breathe out.  
Repeat.

D.VA had said they were all a big family and Lúcio had agreed.

Junkrat grits his teeth.

Maybe it's not all bad then.  
Maybe it's for the better that he forgets everything from his old old life.

Junkrat rubs his face with his good hand tries to let his exhausting drag him back to sleep.

One slip up.  
He can cover for that.  
Mercy won't tell.  
She promised.

It calms him somewhat, but it's not a good night.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you know how ofen me and my colleagues get called 'mom' accidentally by patients? A lot. By people older than us too sometimes. Good fun.
> 
> Anyway, if Junkrat was 6-7 when the Omnium exploded then he's got some memories from that time - but perhaps not very good ones given the life he's lead and his canon 'madness'. And our minds are capable of re-writing memories, and remembering someone's face when you have no picture to refer to is bloody hard.


End file.
